Righteous Judges
by FutureCrazyCatLady
Summary: The scorned wife of a Legionnaire finds herself committing a murder most foul, and with the blood on her hands having just kicked a hornet's nest, she flees to find the mythical Burned Man to help set things right. More chapters to come.
1. Chapter 1: The Engagement

_Hello friends. I was a little stunned at the lack of Joshua Graham (3) on this website, so I wrote a thing. Reviews appreciated. As I side note I also took the name Lavinia from Shakespeare's Titus Andronicus. Enjoy!_

* * *

**_Romans 2 (2-4):_**

_Now we know that God's judgment against those who do such things is based on truth._**_3 _**_So when you, a mere human being, pass judgment on them and yet do the same things, do you think you will escape God's judgment?_**_4 _**_Or do you show contempt for the riches__of his kindness,__forbearance__and patience,__not realizing that God's kindness is intended to lead you to repentance?_

I was blessed with a husband. Nervous on the day of my engagement of course, but in the end, the good Lord God had blessed me. Men here are not kind, nor gentle. The day that we are betrothed is one of agonizing anxiety. Women here—we are treated like servants. Although perhaps servant is too kind of a word. Slaves. Trash, even. If we are lucky, we are betrothed to those in high enough standing, that we are able to be arm-candy. Our only purpose being to look pretty to be an asset to our man. We are to serve our husbands, treat them like kings, maybe bear a few children. But if we are married, if we have made it far enough to even _become _betrothed, we have overcome immense difficulties. Women are slaved since young-adulthood. Worked until they can work no more. These women are less lucky than even us. They live in squalor and die in silence.

But the women do more than the men think.

They think that we are quiet and obedient. They think that we do not interfere with the politicis of the Legion, that we would _never _go behind their backs.

Wrong.

I once knew a woman who called herself Chiquita. A woman of Mexican descent, captured from the south. She was so outraged by the Legion Captain who overthrew her village, that one day, while he was in camp; she poisoned him by slipping something into his drink one evening. Accusations of who killed him were immediately flung around between the men, yet no one ever would have thought that the murderer was nothing but a lowly slave woman. And she got away with it flawlessly. The women had spoken.

In the end, however, she was crucified for peddling drugs that she would get from the Great Khans and then hike up the prices to Legion men and members of the NCR in order to make money to then buy food and medicine for the rest of the women at camp. She was a genius. I learned everything that I knew from that woman. I was fifteen or so when she finally died.

When she was hung on the cross near Red Rock Canyon to serve as an example in her punishment, the women of the Legion wept. We had lost a hero. We are beyond sure that her soul now rests peacefully with God in heaven, yet she was crucified as a sinner, just as Jesus himself was.

But even Jesus rose from hell.

I remember being dressed up to the finest. Betrothal day. _Presentations, _they called it, a lovely euphemism for the equivalent of selling human livestock at the market. Bachelors are to put out requests for what type of lady they would like to see as a potential match. Then, we are paraded before them like pieces of meat at a butcher, and if a bachelor likes any of us, they will eventually whittle down the contestants until they have one that they would like to choose as their wife. It is a competitive process. Girls will often do anything to get married to a man in high standing, rather than resorting to being slaves for the rest of their mortal lives. I was not expecting me to get what is known as a _call _by one of these men. A call could be anything from: _all women with blue eyes, _to _women born out of Legion captivity. _I was stunned to hear that I was called at all. One man wanted to see me. Only one. I got one call, and that was all.

Once I had been placed into a long lavender dress and my face decorated with makeup and fine lines, I was told to wait outside of one of the bright red tents where each one of the bachelors were sitting. We would be called in when it was our time to be shown. An excruciating wait ensued.

A man exited a tent and grabbed me harshly by the arm, bringing me all too fast to meet my husband-to-be. That's when I first saw him. The warm smile of his.

"And the third one. This is Lavinia, Sir." I was presented. The man sitting in a chair stared at me for a moment looking like he was locked in deep thought, but no words escaped him. He was in Legionnaire armor, badges and adornments showed that he was in relatively high standing. Not that it mattered to me, I doubted he would take me as his wife, anyway. After several long moments of deep silence, my escort gestured to me and asked: "What do you think of her, Sir?"

"What is her background?" He asked.

"Tribal. Just like you asked. She's an unusual tribal, however. Fair, from the coast of the Pacific Northwest, and her eyes are green."

"Green?" He asked. Then he squinted and leaned forward in his chair, getting a good look at me. He then cracked a gentle smile. A warm smile. A _genuine _smile. Something so rarely seen on the mouths of the Legion men. "So they are."

He turned and snatched small bundle of grapes from a gigantic bowl of fruits off of a nearby table with his rough and weathered hands. He began eating them, taking them one-by-one off of the vine and then popping them into his mouth like candy. Food such as that was a luxury to us women, unless we were married. It was torture seeing the men eat like this day in and day out, while we were made to starve, eating table scraps and cheap wheat. "Why is her hair so short?" He asked.

"Sir?"

"She has a slave-cut," he remarked, casually, eating several more grapes. I watched them disappear into his mouth. I ached for something as sweet and wonderful as a grape. Just one. And yet he ate them like they were nothing. "I want to know why her hair has been cut short. It's unflattering."

The man who escorted me in looked sheepish as he quickly scrambled for words. I sunk down in stature. Here it comes. "Well to tell you the truth sir, yesterday while we were preparing the ladies in waiting for presentation day, we were so certain that no one had put in a call for Lavinia that we went ahead and chopped her hair and wrote her off as a slave." My hair was cut short, like a boy's. Most of the girls got to keep their hair long and elegant, braided up and twisted and pinned and curled so that when they were to meet their prospective husbands, they would look beautiful and feminine. My boyish cut was very unattractive. A pixie cut. A _slave _cut. "Trust me, Sir. We were all surprised to hear that you had put in a call for her."

"I requested a call for _all _of the available women of tribal backgrounds. I like their faces. Why is this one so different than the others?"

"She's a troublemaker, Sir," my escort growled. "She might be pretty, but she is in a _lot _of trouble."

"How so?"

"Where do I begin," my escort sneered, casting an angry glance at me. "She's been caught doing almost every crime in the book. Lying, stealing…and I even heard rumors that she knows how to _read._"

"Read?" The bachelor asked in horror. Women not allowed to learn how to read. It might encourage us to think for ourselves and reject our lowly positions as bedmates and slaves. Reading was freedom. And freedom was not allowed for any woman among the Legion.

"Precisely, Sir. She is by all means the absolute _wrong_ choice! I _highly _encourage you to…"

"She's beautiful," he said with his warm smile, his brown eyes gliding up and down my form. But then something changed. His lovely-dovy look evaporated from his face, and his expression became steely and cold. It was such a sudden shift in his demeanor that it made a shiver go up my spine. This man was mentally unstable. That, or something wasn't right here. He sat back in his chair and stared at me once more. "And a troublemaker…I've always thought that if I were to be married she must have spirit. A work in progress. I could train her. Make her obedient." He paused again, and then a small smirk curled onto his lips. "A troublemaker…yes. She's the one I want."

And that was that.

I was stunned, as was my escort.

"Sir…you cannot be serious," he stammered.

"I am," he replied, firmly. "I will make her mine. Body, mind, and soul. I assure you that you can trust her with me. I have a firm hand, and I will make her obedient. If she does as much as disobey me once, I will assure you she will be punished. Harshly."

My hands gripped either side of my dress, the fabric bunching up between the gaps in my fingers. I had hoped that no one would have chosen me as their bride. In fact, I was completely surprised that anyone had put in a call for me at all on presentation day. And now I was to be _married? _To _him? _Another abusive Legion husband? No. This can't be happening.

"Well then," the escort said, clearing his throat and looking rather like he might vomit all of a sudden, "good luck with this one. She's probably going to need a lot of…discipline."

"Discipline is easy. Are you forgetting of my position within the ranks?"

"Yes, Admiral—I mean…_no, _Admiral."

"Good. Now, I believe it is customary for us to have some time to speak, now that we are engaged?" He asked. My heart was racing. _No. No! I refuse to marry this man!_

"Yes, of course. Um…simply come out of the tent when you are ready. The weddings are happening in two days' time, so…just…you have time to change your mind. Celebratory dinner is at sunset. You and your…uh…_wife _will be expected to attend."

"_Goodbye, _Squire," the Admiral insisted, harshly. My escort, the Squire, left. I was left in the room with this horrible man who I was now engaged to. He made it quite clear that he intended to be rough with me, as all Legion men were. I would not stand for it.

The flap covering the door closed…and as soon as we were alone…his face softened. "I am Admiral Tertius," he replied, warmly. "I'm sorry, I had to put on a show for them. I have to appear tough. To be honest with you, I think the way that most Legion men treat women is sickening."

I stared at him for a moment in disbelief. After that performance, I had to think for a moment if I had just hallucinated the words that just came out of his mouth. "You…" I began. "I'm sorry, I'm just…confused."

"I had to put on a show. I would never lay a finger on you, although—I do hope you don't mind I called you beautiful so unabashedly. My mother did not raise me this way." He smiled.

"Oh…" I said, a smile even coming to my lips. His voice was so soft. It was so uncommon for a man of the Legion, however it was beyond welcome.

"My mother was a tribal," he said, "hence my weakness for tribal women. And she was sharp as a tack. Also hence why I find smart women…quite appealing."

"The men don't like me," I replied quietly, almost in a whisper, my eyes glancing downward at the patted dirt floor. "They beat me and call me a whore. They threatened to cut my tongue out just last week…"

"Your _tongue? _Whatever for?"

"Telling stories," I sighed. "I was telling some of the children the ghost story about the Burned Man."

"But that's just a story!"

"Apparently it's a dangerous story," I replied with a frown. "It gives people hope. And that's a dangerous thing."

He stared at me for a brief moment in bewilderment, but then he visibly shook it from his mind. "How awful of me," he said, extending his hand. "Tertius."

I gently placed my hand in his. "Lavinia," I replied. His hand was warmer than I had expected it to be. It was welcoming. It gently closed around mine and held it.

"Lavinia," he sighed. "What a lovely name. It's Latin. Were you born under the Legion?"

"Yes," I replied. "My parents were tribals from the North-Pacific coast. My mother was pregnant with me when the Legion sacked their camp. They killed my father. Enslaved my mother. And then I was born. They let her keep me. They've…made it quite clear that they regret making that decision," I said, trying to be lighthearted.

"Can I ask just what it is that you do that makes them so angry with you?"

"I can read, for starters," I replied. "I steal books from tents, read them, and then return them. I teach others to read as well. I've stolen medicine from the doctor when there was someone who needed it, and then lied about it. I've forged notes. I can write, too. I've manipulated soldiers into thinking other soldiers hate them. My laundry list of crimes is hardly short."

"The only crime that you have committed is being smarter than most of the men, here," Tertius sighed. "They don't like smart women. I on the other hand," his grip strengthened on my hand once again, however it was not painfully tight. "I love it when a woman is smarter than me. It's how my mother was with my father, and perhaps I absorbed that as a boy."

I bit my lip and stared at him. "What is it, my love?" He asked, now looking concerned. I took my hand from his, and he looked a little surprised.

"I'm not your love," I replied, forcefully. He was taken aback, but I was not going to take any kind of nonsense from anyone, let alone a man of the Legion. His words were kind, but I was not sure if I could trust him. I had learned long ago not to trust any man. We had to take things slower than that. "We just met. I was just thinking…that you are a very unusual man."

"And you are a very unusual woman," he replied with a shrug. I rolled my eyes and turned from him. He sighed. "I know you have been hurt in your life. Men have been nothing but cruel to you. But I promise you I will not be."

"Well then I suppose we will see if you are true to your words by your _actions, Admiral._"

"Tertius."

"Admiral," I insisted, a considerable succinct bite to my words, "you are still a stranger to me. I have no reason to trust you just because we are to be married."

He paused at my words, then gave a single and serious nod, pursing his lips together. He immediately knew that I was not going to be won that easily. And I wasn't going to be. Growing up as a woman under these men meant that I had to construct some of the highest, largest, thickest walls around myself, just to make sure that I could protect myself. I've been beaten, whipped, burned, almost everything possible, for doing nothing more than petty crimes such as nicking milk for the babes at the slave camp. They would have died without it. The mothers often could not produce proper milk because they were so malnourished, and heaven forbid a child become orphaned. And I was the one with the sticky fingers. Whenever something was needed—I was the one to call. So I always reaped the punishments.

I was terrified the women and slaves would suffer if I was married to an Admiral. I would no longer be able to live in my same tent, for we would be expected to share a bed as a married couple. Who would take care of them?

"I know," he sighed, hanging his head. "You have no reason to trust me. But…just give me time. I promise you that I will make you feel comfortable. And loved."

Loved.

"We shall see, Admiral," I replied with a nod. "We shall see."

"We will be married in a few short days. It's incredible, isn't it? How quickly this moves."

"Yes, well, it's because we are seen as accessories, not people," I sighed. Tertius cracked a smile.

"I want you to be more than just an accessory, Lavinia." He said, warmly. The way my name sounded in his voice…it was perhaps the first time I had heard my name from the mouth of a Legionnaire in way that was not filled with contempt or anger. It was calm. It was gentle. It was filled with admiration. And it was…lovely. "I understand your position."

"Thank you," I whispered.

"You're welcome. Dinner is soon. Are you…hungry?"

"I…get to eat with you?" I asked. _Real food! _Food for the Legionnaires! Roasted meat, fresh vegetables, wine…

"You probably haven't had a decent meal in a long time," he said, warmly, seeing the excitement in my eyes. "It might be nice to put a few more pounds on you. Get you to a healthy weight. Get some nutrients."

"I would…I would be honored to eat with you!" I cried with joy. My stomach had been empty for so long that I had ceased feeling hungry at all. I was so used to getting by on so little, the prospect of eating such a grand meal as a celebration dinner was both exciting and daunting.

"Then let's eat, my bride-to-be," he replied with a smile, offering his hand to me once more. I took it, and with an excited smile, he led me from the tent and we walked united out into the sunlight.


	2. Chapter 2: The Marriage

I had eaten so much at the celebration dinner that Tertius carried me back to my tent at the slave camp, where I would reside only a few more short days before joining him with the rest of the Legionnaires and their wives. His chivalry was wonderful and so rarely seen. Both tipsy as the result of the sweet, dark, red wine, we laughed and cried until the early morning hours when he finally laid me on my bedroll and kissed me on the cheek. "Until tomorrow, Lavinia," he said, a drunken smile on his face.

"We'll be married soon," I replied, my own intoxicated grin surfacing on my lips. "I'll have to pack up my tent."

"That's the least of our problems," he replied with a laugh, "we need to find you a dress."

"Will I be pretty?"

"Will you be pretty?" He asked with a laugh. I gave a hiccup. "Darling, you already are." I sat up and stared at him for a moment. "What is it?" He asked, kneeling down beside me, suddenly quite concerned. I pouted in my drunken state, my flushed cheeks becoming soft and round.

"You said you didn't like my hair," I sighed. "You said it was unattractive."

"No, no," he said, his eyes becoming wide with terror at the thought that I didn't think I was beautiful, "I like it," he ran his fingers through my hair, eventually leaving his hand on the back of my hand, cupping my skull ever-so gently. My short, brown hair scrunched against his hand. And it was at that moment there was a pause. He pulled me closer. Until our noses were inches apart. "Your eyes are beautiful," he whispered.

"Thank you," I whispered back.

He pulled me closer, and suddenly we were locked in a warm, drunken kiss. There's nothing like a drunken kiss. Nothing ever seems so warm or right. It was wild, passionate. That's all I remember. At some point we must have said goodnight and parted ways. But the next thing I remembered was waking with a headache.

When we were married, it was difficult not to laugh at the disgruntled faces of other officers. They were so upset at the fact that Tertius had chosen me as his wife, that there was a visible sour expression on the faces of nearly everyone within the chapel.

It took the combined willpowers of Tertius and I just to stop from bursting out laughing while at the altar! The moment we were alone for the first time, we couldn't help but let out all of the laughter we had tried so hard to contain. "Did you see Inculta?" Tertius wailed, the look on his face almost filled with pain with the extent of his laughter, "he looks like someone just told him his mother died!"

"And Sextus! Sextus looked green in the face!" I hollered.

"I would be green in the fact too if I had to marry Flavia."

"He's marrying Flavia? Why weren't they at the celebration dinner last night? I don't think I saw them."

"Flavia was probably having one last fling with Lucius."

"Are they…"

Tertius nodded. "It's not like it's a secret. I was stunned to hear that anyone chose her at all considering that the entire camp knows about her and Lucius. Especially considering no one ever told that poor idiot he's gay!"

That sent us into another wave of giggles. I gave him a playful punch to the arm. "Even Caesar looked ill," Tertius said, pushing my hand away, his inability to breathe rendering his voice high pitched and breathy. I then found myself laughing at his voice. Everything was funny. He was funny, I was funny, even Caesar was funny. Everything was wonderful and funny, because we were married. We were married and we were happy. We had each other. We were found.

And Tertius remained kind to me. Even when I moved in with him. He carried me over the threshold into his tent, as is tradition. Usually, after the initial marriage and "honeymoon phase," the romance between a Legion couple wanes—that is, if it was even there at all. Soon the husband becomes cold. He treats his wife just like a servant. He beats her when she does wrong, and he rarely ever praises her for what she has done right. It is a lonely existence as the wife of a Legionnaire.

But Tertius never became cold to me. He still loved me months later, just as he did when we were just married. He never abused me in any way. Not with his words or his hands. He treated me as an equal. I was not his slave. I was his wife. He made sure that all of my old slave linens were destroyed (apart from a few that I had grown rather attached to), and clothed me in silks and satins with embroidery and beads about them. My feet were shod with quality shoes, my presence graced by flowers. My existence was now pleasant. I was free to carry about my own business, whatever it might be. I was now being fed well, too. Any leftovers we had, Tertius and I made sure to give to those less fortunate than us—while being careful that no one saw us slip small meals to the slaves and the children.

I was suddenly flooded with the prospect of "leisure time." Something that I had never had before as a slave. But as a woman (even now, as a more elevated woman) I was not allowed to read—yet he would swipe me books from other Legionnaires, claiming they were for his own light reading while he was off-duty. They weren't. They were for me. He would bring me little presents sometimes. Books, jewelry, interesting curious he picked up from his patrols around the wastelands.

"The Adventures of Tom Sawyer?" I asked, holding the most ancient book I had ever seen in my far-too-rough hands. I felt I might damage it if I even breathed on it.

"It's from before the war," Tertius said. "I found it in an old library. Apparently the author was quite popular a long, long time ago. I saw it, and I thought of you."

"Thank you, Tertius. That's so sweet! I cannot wait to read it!" I gave him a peck on the cheek.

"Of course, Darling. However…I'm afraid that Caesar is going to send me out on a mission," he said, his eyes glancing low. "I was just informed this morning. I didn't know how to tell you." This would be his first mission since we were married. I could clearly see he was anxious—and he planned to soften the blow of the news with a present. A clever tactic, but at the same time, I understood that even though Tertius was still my Tertius, he had a job as a Legionnaire, and he had to uphold that.

"I understand," I said with a nod. "Where does Caesar wish to send you?"

"Outskirts of Vegas. Fiends have been causing a lot of trouble. The NCR are hesitant to take them down. By sending us in, we would not only show the civilians of New Vegas that we are not what the NCR makes us out to be…but showing them up never hurt."

"Will it be dangerous?"

"Potentially. Fiends are notorious for their addiction to chems. So they get hopped up on Psycho and harass civilians and the NCR. We want to take them down."

"I'm sure you'll be alright. God willing."

He placed his warm, rough hands on my shoulders and planted a kiss on my forehead. "I'm sure I'll be fine," he said with a warm smile.

"When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow morning."

"When will you be back?"

"I'm not sure."

"Will you think of me while you are away?"

"Always."

I wrinkled my nose at him—an action he adored. He found it cute. "And will you not only slay those feinds in the name of Caesar, but in the name of Lavinia?" I giggled.

"Even more so in the name of Lavinia," he replied.

And the following morning when he left, I could think of nothing more than having him back in my arms again.

But I was a fool.

For that would be the last I would ever see of my dear Tertius.


	3. Chapter 3: The Suicide Mission

It had been a few weeks since I had last heard from my dear husband. Letters took a while to reach us, as of recent the Mojave express had a setback. Something about people attacking their couriers and killing them. Horrible. Absolutely horrible. Who would do that to a person who is simply trying to do their job?

I on the other hand, lived at camp, wholly enjoying my position as the wife of a Legionnaire, being quite sure to throw smirks here and there at passing officers. They all hated that I had been raised to such a high position. Man after man tried to convince Tertius that he had done wrong, that he could do better. Said that he should divorce me…or worse. Tertius always thanked them for their concerns, but always said that they were right in that I was a thief. But this time I was a thief of his heart. I was a thief of other things too, but that's beside the point.

On my regular thievery missions, I now would often steal food and deliver it to the slave women and children down the hill. They surely deserved more than they were getting. And now that I was Tertius' wife, there was nothing that the men could do to stop me. Tertius was the only person who could discipline me: it wasn't considered right for men to punish other Legionnaire's wives. So they would send Tertius letters after letters telling them of what I had done in his absence. Of course, he then wrote me letters telling me that every time he receives an angry letter about how someone saw me reading, or how they suspect I've been sneaking food to the women…it would make him smile. He kept my letters to him on the inside of his armor, over his heart. And when Fiends fell…they fell in the name of Lavinia.

That was, until one day, after I had been busy crafting flower crowns for the local children—and had been given one in return by one of the teenage girls. She was tribal, like me. Kidnapped from Utah. A place known as Zion Valley. She told me stories about it. How red the rocks were, how they cut away from the cliffs in jagged edges against the pale sky. Her English wasn't very good, but she could make incredible crafts with her hands. She could weave baskets from reeds, and of course, construct the most beautiful, lush flower crowns that I had ever seen.

She placed one of her creations around my short hair like a halo and smiled. That is, until we heard someone calling my name.

"Lavinia! LAVINIA!"

I looked up to see Helvia, another wife of a Legionnaire, a friend of mine. Her husband, Publius, was friends with Tertius. But something was wrong. The normally stoic Helvia looked frazzled, her cornflower blue dress blowing in the gentle wind off of the water from below, dividing us from the powder keg that was the city. Helvia waved at me, and I waved back. "Hello!" I called.

"Lavinia! Come quick! I've been looking for you everywhere!"

But she did not sound happy to see me. My stomach twisted in a not. This must have been bad news. "Whatever is the matter?" I asked, coming toward her.

"Lavinia…I'm so so sorry that I have to be the one…they _made _me…don't hate me please."

"What are you talking about, Helvia?" I asked, laughing.

"Tertius is dead." She blurted. The words hit my ears…but they didn't sink in. The idea was so preposterous that I was in denial of their truth.

"What?" I asked, confused.

"Tertius is _dead, _Lavinia," Helvia said, her lips trembling. "The Fiends gunned him down. He died in battle yesterday evening. There was an ambush. Lavinia, I'm so so sorry."

Then I began to understand.

"This can't be true," I replied, shaking my head, the flowers in my crown rustled about my pale ears.

"I'm so sorry," she said. "Caesar wants to see you. You and a few other wives. Several men were killed yesterday. You must go and receive their badges."

I was silent. Dead. Tertius. Impossible.

This couldn't be happening.

Something snapped in my mind.

"When?" I asked.

"As soon as possible. Go up to his tent and present yourself. Lavinia, please don't be angry with me, I'm so sorry that I had to be the one to tell you. The men, to tell you the truth, are afraid of you. They made me do it since I was your friend, and…"

"I'm not angry at you, Helvia," I replied. "I just…I need to think."

"Then you really don't want to hear the next part."

I froze.

"What?"

"I overheard some of the men talking. The ambush happened at a new encampment that was much too far away from the others. It was purposefully placed out there to take down a known settlement of Fiends. But the thing is that they didn't have enough troops _or _ammo, and…and that was well known. It was a suicide mission."

"Why would Caesar do that?" I asked.

"The men who were killed? Your Tertius, Aurelius…he killed off the men he didn't like. People have had their doubts about Tertius since he married you. They thought…his mind…was slipping. The way he refused to let you go and the way that he was so devoted to you, they thought he went insane. And they didn't want a man like that among their high-ranking troops. Caesar planted that camp specifically so the Fiends would kill them. This whole thing was a suicide mission, Lavinia."

I couldn't speak.

There was nothing to say.

"Lavinia, wife of Tertius, Caesar," I was announced before him.

I entered the tent, my hands shaking. And there he was, sitting in his throne like the smug bastard that he is. This man had killed so many. Had abused scores of people. He makes you feel small when you approach him. The guards on either side, the draperies, the throne. Like a king on his throne of sin.

"Lavinia," he said, a fake sadness to his voice, his pale eyes looking me over from top to bottom. The men do this a lot. Sizing you up. It didn't matter if you were married or not. You were still a woman. You were still dirt. "I am so sorry for your loss."

"Thank you, Caesar." I said, bowing my head to him. I wasn't thankful, but it took all of my willpower to make myself sound as if I was.

"I will let you know that Tertius was a fine member of the Legion."

"Of course, Caesar."

"He will be greatly missed."

"As will you," I replied.

I'm not sure how I managed to sneak the gun into his tent. Or how I managed to aim it at him with my hands shaking as dramatically as they were. Or how I managed to kill him with the one bullet. Lucky aim. Hit him in the neck. It was a blur of blood and screaming after that.

Then I just remember turning and sprinting for my life. It all happened so quickly, it was a blur. I snapped. Unable to cope with the loss of my Tertius, my only solution was to do the unthinkable. I had to kill Caesar. Otherwise this reign of tyranny would not end. I remember them shouting at me, coming after me as fast as they could. "Whore! Get back here!" "Don't think you can escape!" "Kill her! I want her on a cross and lit on fire!"

The women were flame with words: "Lavinia killed Caesar! Praise God!"

"Get her out of here! Hide her! Slow the men down!"

There was no hope of getting away through the ferry. I had to swim. Swim across to New Vegas, where I might find someone to shelter me. My blood was wanted.

It wasn't until that night, in the middle of the desert with a small fire burning by my side, that I had even realized what had happened. I had killed a powerful leader. The Legion was unstable, a hornet's nest having been kicked. And my Tertius gone. And Caesar dead.

"Tertius, what have I done?" I asked. I looked up at the stars. In my rage, in my terror, I had murdered a man. Even a man as terrible as Caesar, the blood was still on my hands. "Will no one help me?" I wailed up to the sky. "Why have I been thrown to the bottom of the heap in every way? Given me the chance to rise but only slightly before ripping everything that gave me joy away from my hands!" I feared not even God himself would cast me as much as an askance look throughout this wasteland of death and misery. I was to die out in the sun like so many dead brahmin, where their bones bake and bleach themselves white before dissolving into the sand and rock from whence they came.

I pictured myself wandering the wastes alone for the rest of my existence, ever-searching for my lost Tertius and always hunted like nothing more than a dog for a murder. Perhaps my life would end on a cross like Chiquita and so many countless others. And for the first time in a long while, my mind wandered to the legend of the Burned Man. He was cast away from the Legion, burned and thrown into the Grand Canyon. He still walked the wastes like a ghost. The Legion denies that that's true…but I know that he's still out there.

We were two of a kind, the Burned Man and I.

The morning sun kissed my skin as I heard someone walk up to my little makeshift camp. "Hey. Kid. _Kid. _You alright?" I opened my eyes to see a caravan trader and a merc guard standing above me. A brahmin was nearby, looking rather confused with its four eyes—as they normally do.

"Yeah, I'm alright," I murmured, rubbing my sore eyes with my hands.

"Thought you had passed out," the merc said. "Are you sure you're okay? Would you like some water or something?"

"Why are you being so nice to me?" I spat.

"We've helped Legion runaways like yourself before," the caravan trader replied, adjusting her hat. Of course. My clothing would have given away my identity. "We were worried about you. Where are you headed?"

"I…" I hadn't even thought of that. Where _was _I headed? I scrambled for an answer. Somewhere nice. I wanted to go somewhere nice. Where I could be alone, safe from the Legion. I felt the flower crown…still on my head. "Zion Valley," I replied.

"Zion Valley? Up in Utah?" The merc asked.

"I've been there," the trader chirped, "it's gorgeous."

"Yes, I want to go there," I replied.

"Well you're going to have to cut up through the north. Traders go up there sometimes to trade with the natives. I'm sure we could hook you up with a caravan party."

"No, I just want to go alone," I insisted.

"But that's dangerous!" The merc said, "you can't go up there on your own, you'll be slaughtered."

"I don't care, I'll be slaughtered either way," I replied. "Let's just say that I'm wanted and I don't want any attention drawn to me."

"I understand," the trader said, "but keep in mind that it's not going to be easy."

"I don't care," I replied. "Take me up north, I will forever be in your debt."

The camp up at the northern passage was nice. The people were kind and welcoming. They gave me new clothes to wear, and I buried my Legion dress in the desert, never to be unearthed again. But my denarius necklace, a Roman coin, given to me by Tertius from his travels, was worn underneath my shirt, close to my heart, just as Tertius kept my letters. I stayed there for a few days, but the next trip through the passage wasn't for a few more weeks. Biding the time was horrible, but the friendly faces and good, hearty food made it almost worth the wait.

That is, until we caught wind that the Legion was coming up this way. It was the middle of the night when I was shaken from my sleep on my bedroll amongst the others. "Lavinia. Lavinia wake up."

"Hmm? What is it?"

It was a trader in the group. His eyes looked crazed beneath the glowing lamplight. It was the middle of the night, but something was definitely wrong. Just like Helvia when she delivered the dreaded message, there was another warning. "You need to run, Lavinia. The Legion are coming this way."

"No!" I said, shaking the sleep from my mind, "they'll recognize me!"

"You need to go through the passage," he said, quickly packing a bag, shoving bits of food, water, and supplies into it as I quickly laced up my dusty boots. "It's not going to be safe, but if you go at night, no one should be able to find you. Just stay quiet, lie low, and we'll see you on the other side." He shoved the bag into my hands.

"Thank you," I whispered, "tell the others where I have gone, but make sure the Legion has no idea where I went."

"Of course. Good luck, Lavinia."

And with that I was gone into the night.

The passage was cold and dark. Without being able to see, the light from my lantern and the moon above were not quite bright enough for me to watch where I was going. It was the wee morning hours, and…I heard a flapping of wings. I must have taken a wrong step. I got too close to a nest.

Cazadors.

"Ow!" I gave out a cry, as a sharp pain came from my shoulder. It burned with a hot blue venom. I had been stung. "Damn it," I whispered as I continued to run. But as my heart beat faster as I ran, the venom was being pumped faster into my veins. "OW!" I screamed, as another stinger injected venom into my back. My vision began to go blurry. The flapping of wings was so loud it drowned out everything around me. It was those wings, and the blackness of the night, that swallowed me whole. My knees gave out. And I fell.


End file.
